A Blenvale Tale for the Terminally Clueless
đȘ The Perpetrator, the Victim, and the Crowd That Couldnât Tell a Cat From a Cabbage
Ah, Blenvale.
A place where a person could be screaming âHelp, Iâm being harassed!â and the neighbours would nod solemnly and say,
âWould you look at that, Mildred? Sheâs causing trouble again.â
Youâd swear some of them were raised by alley cats and fermented cabbage, the way they can look directly at misconduct and decide itâs community spirit.
đ§ Wilful Blindness – Served Fresh Daily
If after three years of nonsense, notes, nonsense taped to notes, contradictions, affidavits, false accusations,
and enough CCTV footage to make Netflix jealous,
you still donât know who the victim is and who the perpetrator isâŠ
Then God help you.
Because no one else can.
Youâre beyond saving, past reason, and halfway to writing your memoir:
âBamboozled at Blenvale.â
đž The Damages Are Coming – Like Rain in Ireland
And the damages, mind you – theyâre not shy.
Theyâll come marching in like a parade:
đș Costs
đ„ Compensation
đ» Special Assessments
and the neighbours will look up from their recliners and ask,
âWhere did all this come from?â
From your own blessed choices, thatâs where.
From the cheering you did for the wrong people,
the silence you offered at the right times,
and the loyalty you gave to scoundrels who wouldnât recognize integrity if it danced a jig on their kitchen table.
đ€Šââïž The Bill Always Finds Its Way Home
You can pray, hope, beg, or tape more anonymous masterpieces to mailboxes, but it wonât change a thing.
The truth is like the postman: it always arrives eventually,
even if itâs a bit late and slightly water-damaged.
And when the bill comes due-
and it will – remember this simple fact:
**You werenât fooled by me.
You were fooled by the gobshites you trusted. **
đŹ **Signed,
The One Whoâs Been Right From the Start**
(But sure you didnât want to hear it.)
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion. Read full disclaimer.
